Delusions of Grandeur
by Rayless Night
Summary: The woman left the man. How did he take it?
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Intro Note: Hi there. The fic you're about to read was inspired by a comment a reader left while reviewing my Salome-centric story, "Wishes". They observed that it would've been interesting to see Zetta's reaction when he found out that his former disciple had become an Overlord in her own right. I thought, "Hey, that is a great idea," and so I decided I'd write the scene out. I ended up writing it twice, as you'll see._

_Both versions' time frame is that Salome has just left Zetta because she feels that he is neglecting her in his pursuit of becoming the ultimate Overlord. If you'd like a more thorough context, both of these pick up exactly where chapter six of "Wishes" leaves off._

_This is the first version. It ended up surprising me._

_Disclaimer:_ Makai Kingdom _is owned by Nippon Ichi Software. Rating is for strong violence and language. Some content may be disturbing and/or triggering._

* * *

**Delusions of Grandeur**

Then she left.

Good. Damn selfish bitch.

Zetta, Overlord, leader of demon armies, turned from the stairway landing (where she'd stood) and stalked back down the dark hall, the cold air punching his cape up behind him, scrabbling across his bare chest. He arrived at the torture chamber door (where she'd found him, only a hundred and eighty seconds ago) in six strides. He stopped. What had he been doing in here? Right, that demon commander, the one who'd run during the battle this morning, the battle he _should've_ won, the battle that _should've_ brought him all that closer to defeating Supreme Overlord Sufferoth and claiming the title himself. He, Zetta, had been having some words. He'd stepped out to leave the prisoner to his fate, just opened the door and taken a few steps when she'd appeared-

Zetta jerked the door open. The prisoner was still bound on the rack. The torturer was at the rack's wheel, preparing to stretch the prisoner's limbs tight. Without a sidelong look, Zetta reached for his sword, stepped across the chamber and brought his blade slamming down through the prisoner's throat. Not waiting to watch the head fall, Zetta whipped around and strode back out. Let the torturer wonder. He, the Overlord, didn't care. Why should he care, when he was stronger than all of them, when he was going to be the strongest in the universe? When he had the willpower and the drive and the relentless desire to destroy any weakness-

No. He was not going to think of her. There wouldn't be much to think of for long. She'd been under his protection for centuries, there was no way she'd survive alone in the universe. She was powerful enough under his direction, but she'd never cope. She was a human. She'd let her emotions kill her if nothing else-

_You aren't going to think of her! _Zetta told himself._ Didn't you tell her to get lost three minutes ago? Well, nothing's changed since then!_

Zetta was at the landing, about to step up it. Her landing. _Stop it, Zetta. _Your _landing. You own this Netherworld. And you should've kept better control of her._

_No. You shouldn't have picked her up in the first place._

_Stop thinking._

Zetta stepped up, deliberately striking the landing with his heel, sending up a sharp flash of sparks. He turned and made his way up the stairs. She hadn't gone up them. She'd teleported away on the landing. He hadn't known she could do that. He'd only ever taught her to use the Makai gate. But she'd vanished as skillfully as an Overlord, just three and a half minutes ago.

But she was just a human. She couldn't change that, no matter how powerful she was.

Zetta was rising quickly up the stone spiral staircase, lit by faint red torches. He had things to do. His spies told him that Drake was marshaling his troops for an attack. Drake wouldn't be tough work. Zetta grimaced, trying to reason out the strategy that would gain him the most Mana. But he wasn't in the mood for a prolonged battle, not anymore.

_Too bad. You want to become Supreme, you'll milk that moron dry. Becoming Supreme takes more than mere sacrifice-_

Zetta paused on the landing, remembering her eyes. Why hadn't he said that? It made perfect sense, why couldn't he make her see that? She had to make sacrifices too, she had to-

Damn it! She said she had always supported him, then she turned around, begging him to become weaker. Just to gratify her human cravings -An animal, she was nothing better than an animal, wanting him- He shouldn't have waited for her to leave, he should have run her out long ago! He should have killed her the first time they met!

Zetta stormed up from the dungeon staircase and into a hallway that looked over his dragon pit. Fafnir, a long, coiling blue dragon with secretive black eyes watched him from far below, thick bars of Mana-nulling iron separating them. Zetta snarled. The dragon looked smug, knowing. Well, the dragon's hours were numbered. Zetta felt certain he'd soon be strong enough to destroy Fafnir and assimilate his Mana. Zetta had owned Fafnir for centuries and often used him during training. Not in all-out duels, but timed affairs. Come on, sword out, let's see how much damage you can do in five minutes. Hey, let's try out your levitation skills while we're at it.

She liked dueling midair. Some demons got ill if they had to do so much as a somersault at a thousand feet, but she was fearless. No, not quite. She'd once said she loved the adrenaline rush, brushing shoulders with disaster. She loved it because it reminded her of him and how he had made her strong enough to withstand fear.

Fafnir's blue eyelids curved, like a smirk.

Zetta bared his teeth. _I can forget her, if you can't._

Fafnir probably wouldn't forget her for awhile. Zetta had often run her through her drills with Fafnir loose and flaming. Fafnir liked killing; if he didn't kill regularly he tended to languish. And she loved the challenge, of course. Zetta could remember standing here, watching her, the bars drawn aside and a ticking stopwatch in his hand. Fafnir would writhe up the cylindrical tower after her, she'd bank quickly in midair, dart past him, make a thrust for the dragon's neck.

Zetta knew that wouldn't work. He mentally docked three points from her grade.

It didn't work. She swooped low, gathering Mana into her left hand, a fire spell. It blasted up as Fafnir dove, coating the dragon a moment entirely in flames. She skidded to a stop midair, barely dodging Fafnir's claw. She twisted her lithe body aside, stabbing upwards for the stomach. It also didn't work, but Zetta added a point for audacity. He could always admire that. Then her time was up. The bars shot back into place, sealing Fafnir away. She swept up to join him in the hallway, her feet landing lightly on the floor, her eyes burning from the heat of battle.

"Not bad. You were able to hold out for the five minutes, but none of the tactics you used would've won you that battle. Except for on a fluke."

She frowned with her eyebrows. "Well, you haven't taught me how to fight a greater dragon like that. What was my grade?"

Zetta thought a moment. "'Fair'."

"You've never given me an 'Excellent'."

"You'll get an 'Excellent' when you blow me away. Which, by the way, you never will." He grinned cheerfully which brightened her smile. She was amazing. Which was to be expected. Wasn't she his disciple? Zetta eyed her proudly, not just admiring the expert way she handled her weapons but the subtle muscles in her arms and back, the glow of her pale skin. Her large red eyes and the way the light softly gathered on her lower lip. Zetta wasn't a poet, but he had eyes.

_What the hell!_ Zetta, in the present, audibly snarled. _Enough of that! Get the troops ready for battle! _Normally, she would've primed the troops, but she was ten and a half minutes gone. And she was never coming back, he promised.

Zetta stalked into the lurid red light of sunset in his Netherworld. The compound directly below his citadel was swarming with soldiers, like maggots on a carcass, their platoon leaders shouting them into order. Zetta focused on them, not her, working out his strategy.

He stopped only a few minutes in. Dammit, he was incorporating her into his plan. That was his punishment for keeping her so long, for relying on her in battle. Dammit! He was weaker than he'd realized! Couldn't he win a battle without her? Of course he could, he'd won hundreds of battles without her, even since she'd come.

_No. You're not weak. She was your last source of weakness, and she's gone now. You got rid of her. You've destroyed her._

"You aren't worried?" she'd asked that night.

"Tch. Don't insult me."

"Well..."

"What? Don't tell me_ you're_ upset?"

She'd shifted in his arms, her warmth against his chest and shoulder and neck. They'd been deep in Alexander's Netherworld, holed up in the Blastridge Mountains, their camp neatly surrounded by six platoons of Alex's army. In the morning, Zetta was going to spearhead the push through the enemy lines and make one last attempt on Alex's citadel. Zetta had found her on the outskirts of camp, restlessly pacing, resenting the confinement and uncertain about the morning. It had been he who put his arms around her first.

Zetta, in the present, tightened his jaw. He'd been so weak once. So simpering and mawkish. But now she was gone, and he could focus entirely on the war.

She'd taken her head off his shoulder to look at him. She was almost as tall as he, and Zetta could see her eyes clearly. "I _am_ upset," she admitted. "We've never fought so many enemies at once. If we lose-" She laughed shakily. "Well, that's the end, isn't it?"

Zetta grinned. "True, but we're not going to lose. Simple as that."

She'd sighed. "I wish I had your strength."

Zetta tried to think of the right words. But he couldn't imagine himself saying them, so he just drew her closer. With her this close in his arms, she had nothing to worry about.

... The damn selfish bitch.

Zetta's sword was out before he was thinking, its blade diving through the stone battlement he stood in front of. Zetta stared at the cut he'd made, jerked his sword free, and made another slice, deeper, harder. The damn selfish bitch! What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she see that he was right, that he knew what he was doing, that she was making both of them weak with her tears and- He'd worked tirelessly to make himself strong, he'd worked to make her strong, and she-

Zetta breathed hard, staring at the ten long stabs he'd made. Ten, one for every two minutes since she'd transported off the landing.

Zetta jerked his attention back towards the troops. They were falling into formation, good, good. Drake would never be able to breach that line of tanks. He probably didn't need to deploy the full force. Except, it would be so fantastic to see Drake's Netherworld going up in flames, hear the screams, feel the Mana soar through his body.

She'd remember soon enough. She'd remember what it was like to taste defeat. With him guiding her, she hadn't been in a losing battle for centuries. But now, alone, weakened by her emotions, unable to judge, unable to decide, she'd be crushed, she'd be pummeled flat, and when she dragged herself back to his citadel, begging forgiveness, he'd destroy what was left. Because that was the only thing you did with weaknesses.

Zetta studied the sky. His Netherworld, hurtling through the universe, was closing in on Drake's. They'd be deploying in moments. Zetta's eyes made a wide sweep of the horizon, ascertaining that no other Netherworlds were close by, no other Overlords near enough to interfere.

There was a sudden roaring explosion from the sky. Zetta's eyes widened, his soldiers stopped drilling, everyone stared at the sky. Like a supernova, a bright blaze had appeared, so bright it was difficult to look at. It had to be visible from all corners of the cosmos.

Zetta suddenly felt a surge of Mana, not his own. Mana traveling out from that explosion and sweeping back towards its source. A message: _The Lord of Fear is dead. His murderer is Overlord._

Zetta's eyes narrowed. The Lord of Fear was one of the most powerful Overlords in the cosmos, second perhaps only to Sufferoth himself. Who could have destroyed him? Zetta immediately deployed a spy to assess the situation and report quickly. Zetta watched the explosion's light fade into a lurid haze, then defuse into a sparkling mist across the Lord of Fear's Netherworld. Had Sufferoth descended to destroy his enemy? No. Sufferoth's Mana was too strong for even what Zetta had felt. Zetta had felt Mana on par with his own.

The spy reappeared in front of Zetta. "Report," Zetta commanded.

"Lord." The spy's eyes were wary. "The new Overlord is -Mistress Salome."

Zetta went still.

No.

It wasn't true.

There was no way that his human disciple could have destroyed his second-greatest power rival in only thirty minutes.

And there was no way she could be an Overlord.

No.

Zetta's sword sprayed the spy's blood across the pavement. He shouted out the order for his troops to assemble, not caring, hardly hearing himself.

This morning, she'd been here.

Zetta stalked down the steps, the spy's blood dripping down his sword. His Mana was alight, rushing through him, ready to be released, ready to be real, ready to destroy.

This morning, she'd been under his command.

Zetta crossed the compound, feeling the soldiers watch him, their Overlord who was going to lead them into cosmic legend.

This morning, she'd been his disciple.

Zetta paused in his stalking to kill a soldier. Then a second soldier. His eyes were cool as he did it, his blood white hot. Because this was justice, this was her in effigy, this was what she'd get if they ever met again. A third soldier dropped to the pavement, the other soldiers backing frantically away. They should be frightened. He was Lord Zetta. He would rule the universe with no one's strength but his own.

Zetta killed eight more soldiers, hoping. He killed twelve more, sure that, any swordstroke now, she'd be dead, he'd feel her die, and then he'd feel nothing at all. Ten more dead, his arm bloody to the shoulder. She'd run her hands along that arm once, he remembered, her palms curving admiringly over his biceps. Four more dead. Blood splattered onto his jaw. Blood spattered onto his cheekbone. "I wish I had your strength," she'd said. He wished he'd had the chance to destroy an Overlord in thirty minutes. Blood under his eye. Blood splashing across his lips, just a moment. Good, she'd never kiss him again. The next time he saw her, this all would be her blood, finally paying him back for all the years he'd given her.

Abruptly Zetta turned away from the battalion and the blood that spread like a bursting supernova across the pavement. Sixty soldiers were dead, and he was soaked with blood because he was strong enough to kill, he was strong enough to conquer, he was strong enough to win. He glanced once at his platoon captains. "Move out."

The troops marched past him, the Makai gate widening itself to admit them. Zetta bared his teeth, feeling the powerful rush of his Mana.

This morning, she'd been his disciple.

Right now, for Zetta, she was dead.

* * *

_Author's Note: I never planned for Zetta to go on a killing spree. People tell writers that it's always a good sign when the characters write the stories themselves, but it can be pretty alarming. So while I didn't intend to write a blood bath, Zetta's reactions seemed to make it inevitable._

_In case you're wondering, this story is not supposed to align with Zetta's mindset in the actual game. At that point, his focus is on other things (like...being a book), and he's been apart from Salome for many years, so his emotions aren't raw. Also, he's proven himself to be the most powerful demon in the cosmos, so he feels secure that Salome is no longer a threat to him emotionally (little does he know). This story is about Zetta's response right then, right there as he realizes that the woman he loves has deserted him and then done him better._

_Still, I wasn't entirely happy with this story. I mean, it's just so bloody, and when I'd first contemplated the idea, it had suggested so many humorous possibilities. I felt kind of cheated..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:...So a month later, I wrote the, um, less bloody version. Like the first one, I wrote it without any set idea of what was going to happen, and I was interested to see how differently it panned out. When you're done reading, I'd really like to know which (if either) you think is the more accurate portrayal (or even which you simply liked better)._

**Delusions of Grandeur**

Micky was busy in his living room, arranging anti-aircraft guns picturesquely across his mantle, when there was a blazing tide of furious Mana behind him, and Zetta appeared in the middle of his oriental carpet.

Valvoga whirled. "Zetta!" Micky exclaimed. "Whuh -What are you doing here?" He stared down at the shorter Overlord, his pale face and tense features. Zetta's pupiless white eyes were scorching.

"HEH HEH," Dryzen interpreted. "HE BURNED THE CARPET. HE'S HERE TO CHALLENGE US! BRING IT ON!"

"Uh...I don't know," Micky commented. "He looks kind of...upset."

"Oooo, poor Zetta," Ophelia sarcastically cooed. "Was someone mean to you?"

Zetta's left eye twitched. Then he wheeled and blasted away Micky's porcelain plate collection with a single wave of raw Mana. "Shut up!"

Ophelia arched her eyebrows. "In our Netherworld, you're asking us to shut up?" Her long brown hair began to swirl faster.

Zetta pivoted in the Star Overlord's direction. Now his heavy black sword was out. "Listen up, I've had more than enough from egotistical bitches like you!"

"Uh-" Micky's eyes darted from side to side, hoping to find the writing on the wall. Any wall. Any writing, for that matter. Heck, if the wall just caved in on Zetta right now, that'd be good. "Why...are you_ here_, Zetta?"

"No reason!" Zetta shouted and began to pace, sparks striking off his heels and further singing the carpet.

"Um," Micky went on, tapping his fingertips together, "I don't really -I mean, you should've called -I've got stuff to, er-"

"GET LOST," Dryzen suggested.

"Right!" Zetta shouted back. "Get lost! A great idea! Why doesn't everyone just get lost!"

Dryzen looked up at Ophelia. Ophelia looked up at Micky. Micky looked hopelessly down at both of them.

Ophelia frowned. "Listen Zetta, our palace isn't your personal shooting range. If you have a question, just ask. If not, stand still so we can kill you faster."

Zetta whirled back on the three (?) of them. "Fine," he seethed, his teeth bared. "Fine. I have a question. Am I an Overlord?"

Ophelia snorted delicately through her little blue nose. "Of a sort."

"Okay. What's an Overlord supposed to do?"

"MURDER! LOOT! WREAK ABSOLUTE MAYHEM!"

"Right!" Zetta shouted. "That's exactly what an Overlord's supposed to do! So why can't everyone understand that?"

"Whuh?" Micky drew back a bit. "Who couldn't understand _that_?"

Zetta took a deep breath to shout something else, then abruptly cut it off. After a moment, he turned away from Valvoga and used his sword to lop off the top of a large decorative mushroom.

Ophelia's smile curved deeply. "Oh. This must be about Salome."

They could see Zetta's shoulder blades tense through his thin leather jacket. "What?" There was a long pause. "What does Salome have to do with anything?"

Micky's eyes widened. "Uh-"

Zetta growled. "She's just a worthless human."

"Hm hm hm," Ophelia chuckled. "She _is_ your apprentice."

"APPRENTICE?" Dryzen repeated. "SHE'S YOUR SALLY-SNOOGLE-POO!"

"Tell us, Zetta," Ophelia went on, "what did she do?"

Zetta was still a little speechless from the Sally-Snoogle-Poo. (Never -never -he had _never_ called Salome Sally-Snoogle-Poo, not once, not even when he was drunk. He hoped.) "What the hell?" he demanded. "Salome has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh?" Ophelia queried.

"She's nothing but my apprentice -a worthless human -an ungrateful little bitch who's off living in her own little Cupid-tinged dream-world because she wouldn't recognize reality if it was her long-lost twin and like hell she's going to survive on her own it's a demon's world out there and I've been merciful but she's too fixated on her damn feelings and she's not going to last a second because-"

"_What_?" Micky's eyes were really wide. "You broke up with Salome?"

Zetta engulfed the headless mushroom in a wave of fire. "There's nothing to break up! She was just my apprentice!"

Ophelia laughed. "Yeah right. Is that why you kept her with you for nine whole centuries?"

Micky also laughed, a little shakily. "C'mon, Zetta, we all know."

Zetta called the wave of fire back into his hand. Slowly, he turned to face Valvoga. "You don't know anything."

"Why Zetta..." Ophelia pouted. "Did she hurt your feelings?"

"SHUT UP!"

"Aw...a weak little human hurt poor Zetta... and she was only his apprentice too. Ooo, how tragic!"

"Ophelia-" Micky said quickly, "Maybe you shouldn't taunt him like thi-"

**BOOM**.

When the three Overlords that comprised Valvoga came to a halt, they were sixty miles clear across the cosmos. There's no friction in space, so they only stopped because they hit a small asteroid. Dryzen spent a few moments spitting out chunks of space rock.

"That," huffed Ophelia, "is no way to treat people in their own Netherworld."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zetta didn't linger in Micky's pad. He shot out into the universe, looking for a large planet to annihilate, maybe a supernova or two. After a moment, he saw that he wasn't alone. A glowing white sphere was shooting swiftly through the darkness.

Zetta tensed, his face growing deathly grim. If this were she, he was going to-

But no, as the sphere approached him, it burst apart, there was a haze of deep red and purple Mana, and Demon Overlord Seedle appeared. "Hmph. What's wrong with you?"

Emotions are weaknesses, and Zetta struggled to appear unruffled in front of a rival Overlord. "Nothing. Just...enjoying the scenery."

"Hah!" the one-eyed samurai laughed. "Right."

"What about you?"

"Me? I just chased some renegade ghosts onto Omega Centauri." He stared at Zetta a moment. He and Zetta weren't friends, even by the demonic definition of the word. They'd fought maybe a total of three duels over the past four centuries since Seedle had claimed the throne of hell. Still, Zetta could guess from what he knew of Seedle that the samurai liked to be comfortably aware of all his rivals' weaknesses. Which was probably why he half-smiled heartlessly and commented, "I thought you were going to kill me when I came up. Who did you think I was?"

"None of your business." Zetta considered just lighting off, then reconsidered it. He had a feeling it would be a cowardly retreat.

Seedle laughed brusquely again. "Well, I'll just have to ask my spies, won't I? Now-"

There was a sudden flare of Mana across the cosmos.

Uninhibited by any atmosphere, its white brilliance swarmed outwards, revolving like the arms of a galaxy. As it reached the two Overlords, they heard words in their minds, felt a message placed deep within the light, carrying it to the far corners of the cosmos:

_The Lord of Fear is dead. His murderer is Overlord._

The Lord of Fear...That would be Humbaba, one of the most powerful Overlords in the cosmos. Murdered? This was interesting to say the least.

"Heh," Seedle said, breaking the sudden silence. "Who was that?"

Zetta grimaced. "Someone who beat me to it."

Seedle gave him a withering look. "You're the born-demon. Read the Mana signature."

"Oh. Right." The Mana was still radiating across the universe. Zetta extended his right hand, feeling the sorcerous waves with his own Mana. Suddenly he jerked his hand back. Seedle leaned forward. There was a slight burn mark across Zetta's palm.

Seedle frowned. "What the hell?"

Zetta was breathing hard.

"Well?"

Zetta gritted his teeth.

_Emotion is weakness. _

_Emotion is weakness. _

_You're rid of her, you can be rid of weakness_.

He caught his breath. "It's Salome."

Seedle's right hand jerked out suddenly, then stilled. He also went tense, the lines of his collarbones standing stark against his neck as he sucked in his breath.

Zetta clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.

_How could she?_

"Well." Seedle's voice was a little hoarse. He covered it with sardonic laughter. "I guess you did a good job teaching her, Zetta."

Zetta had a sudden impulse to shut Seedle up with his own katanas. He resisted it.

_Why should I care?_

_She's just another rival now._

Seedle chuckled humorlessly. "Quite a woman, eh Zetta?"

Zetta turned. "Her?"

Seedle was grinning -or snarling. "Don't act like you don't care."

"She's dead to me."

"Right."

Zetta bared his teeth.

"So, what now? Are you just going to let her stay there, cozy in her nest?" His eye darkened. "Or do you want revenge?"

Zetta narrowed his eyes and turned away. "She's Salome the Traitor. She's beneath my notice."

"Hm," was all Seedle said in reply.

Zetta opened his left fist. Blue fire shot out, reducing a nearby planet to a haze of glittering debris.

"Effigy?" Seedle asked.

"Of who?" Zetta demanded.

Seedle crossed his arms. "And Lord Zetta forgot about her after five minutes. Well, I think I'll leave you to your suffering."

Zetta felt he had a sufficient excuse to run Seedle through at this point, but the samurai had already shot away.

Zetta was alone.


End file.
